


Turn Away

by doubtthestars



Series: my heart on my sleeve [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 20:25:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2401787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubtthestars/pseuds/doubtthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stevie knew him by his gait. He walked through the library rows like he was in a chapel, in some old monastery, praying to the god of knowledge by stroking the spines of old dusty books no one had touched in decades.</p><p>He spoke with a lilt, not a laughable one, like his, but a serious one. Something that spoke of richness and world travel and Stevie felt his gut try to squirm out of his body as he contemplated the man reading aloud. </p><p>His cuff changed colors but not expense and he was sure there was some code to crack behind the changes but he wasn't going to ask because he couldn't face that level of focus without wanting to run.</p><p>(same universe as 'unsuspected paths')</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Give Me Love

**Author's Note:**

> In the same breath you felt the strength of a man, and a self-pity that made you feel small and hurt. Part of you thought: Please don't look at me. If you don't, I can still turn away. And part of you thought: Look at me.”  
> ― Nicole Krauss, The History of Love

A bar wasn't exactly an uncommon place to find a soulmate. There were the romantics and then there were the realists and he guessed then there were the Stevies of the world who just carelessly bumped into their destiny in the middle of a bar fight with a burly Scot and a middle-aged redhead with an eye-patch and freakish strength(seriously where was she hiding the muscle, was she superhuman?) 

He knocked some heads together and some posh looking Spaniard looked back from taking care of his own goons. He probably had a little blood on his shirt and his hair was a mop on account of the beer mug thrown at his head, but there it was, the most eventful meeting in recent history. 

That had been four years ago.

Now he was reduced to staking out a bloody library.

Stevie knew him by his gait. He walked through the library rows like he was in a chapel, in some old monastery, praying to the god of knowledge by stroking the spines of old dusty books no one had touched in decades.

He spoke with a lilt, not a laughable one, like his, but a serious one. Something that spoke of richness and world travel and Stevie felt his gut try to squirm out of his body as he contemplated the man reading aloud. 

His cuff changed colors but not expense and he was sure there was some code to crack behind the changes but he wasn't going to ask because he couldn't face that level of focus without wanting to run.

Xabier Alonso Olano, it was the worst name to learn with his clumsy tongue but he had managed by pure determination. 

They didn't run in the same circles and Stevie was glad of it. Alex pestered him about it constantly.

"Make a move, you chicken. How do you expect to live out the dream if you don't go talk to him?" He didn't.

He didn't want to live the dream with Xabi Alonso. He wanted to live his own life without the complication of being bound to a prime minister's son. He had known about the Alonso family through his discipline, international politics, and the Alonsos were in the thick of it in Spain. After the bombs in Seville, Periko had become the number one choice for the Senate. His sons were going to follow him into the political sphere and Stevie wasn't daft enough to follow Xabi into that.

He had worked hard to get into a good school to make a difference in his part of the world. He didn't belong anywhere else. His lofty dreams including being part of the Sheffield City Council. 

His bond was an honest to God nightmare for him.

"I should've been yours, Alex. We could've had a kid by now." He slurred on her couch, not content with the spinning room.

She slapped his chest to keep him down as she threw a blanket on him.

"Oh come off it. This is why we're not," she tapped his uncovered wrist. "and you're too much of a sap for me, love." Alex tapped his nose and went into her bedroom to sleep off the pints they had consumed that night.

Alexandra Curran was his soulmate, at least she would be, if the world made any sense. They had been best friends since meeting through their exes who turned out to be bonded and that pretty much summed up his love life perfectly. 

He had rotten luck and was always at the wrong place.

Why did God see it fit for him to be bonded a with rich boy from Barcelona who was only here for a lark? Stevie went to mass every Sunday. He said his prayers and confessed like a good Catholic, so why Xabi Alonso?

He woke up in a cold sweat with snatches of a dream that prominently featured the cuffs that usually adorned his bondmate's wrists.

Alex had left a note on the coffee table next to his keys and a glass of water and glorious drugs, which he immediate took. Checking his watch, he decided to hop in the shower before locking up and heading back to campus to tackle the mountain of paperwork he was determined to cut in half by the end of the day.

Fabio Capello had approached him with the TA position after he had finished his requirements and Stevie had gladly taken it. Theories of International Relations made Carra waggle his eyebrows suggestively whenever he heard it, but Stevie enjoyed teaching the history behind his work. 

The paper-grading was a bit dull but he had been in those student's shoes not too long ago. 

He had found an under-shirt in the back of Alex's closet that he had left behind in the summer and figured it would have to do until he got into the office where he had an extra tie and button-down. His pants were wrinkled beyond repair but he couldn't be arsed to go back to his flat when he was closer to the campus from Alex's place.

He got into his car and adjusted everything back to his preference after Alex had to haul him out of the bar. 

Maybe he should stop drowning his problems in beer. Maybe he should give up on self-psychiatry.

As he snagged an ideal spot in the faculty park, he saw Mikel Arteta, one of the Spanish entourage that hung around Xabi smoking a cigarette. It sent his relatively good mood into the gutter. If Arteta was here, then Alonso must be around. 

"Rough night?" the man wasn't trying to goad him but Stevie felt irrationally prickly around Arteta. He wasn't sure what kind of relationship he had with Alonso and it didn't matter because he had no business knowing.

"Yeah, somethin' like it." He gruffly responded as he tapped his badge against the scanner. The door unlocked and he walked up the stairs without a care for Mikel Arteta's smug face outside. 

He unbuttoned his shirt from the night before as he approached the door, hoping to get the pub smell off of him before anyone came asking for extensions on papers or questions on the midterm. How do you figure there was already someone inside, and to Stevie's surprise it was the devil himself, Xabier Alonso Olano.

\---

Xabi had come to Capello's office as a favor for Benitez. He would've steered clear of the entire wing if he could. Steven Gerrard was the one who had to come through the door half-undressed and looking fit to murder.

"What do you want?" He spat as he uncovered more of his skin, not bothering to have some decency. 

Xabi had known he should've made Reina take the fool's errand, but he was made a fool instead by having to interact with the English man who wanted nothing to do with him. He turned away as the man had the audacity of taking his undershirt off also. 

"Do you greet all your students in this way?" He studied the off-white wall intently but could see a reflection off the edge of a framed diploma so Xabi just decided to close his eyes and recite the conjugations of various verbs in German. _Er rennt. Wir rennen. Ihr--_

"You're not my student, Xabi." The ch-sound was too soft but he almost bit his tongue holding back all he wanted to say. Xabier turned back to face him with a packet of paper held in his hands. Stevie readjusted the cuff of his sleeve, feeling naked without his regular cover. Now, he remembered why he had put the long-sleeved white shirt in his reserve stash of clothes. The sleeves hadn't had enough room to close over his regular cuff. 

The tiny buttons were vexing him and he cursed every men's fashion shop he knew of off the top of his head. 

"May I?" Stevie was suddenly aware of the other man's proximity. He felt a kinship to Tantalus at that moment. What sort of cruel punishment was this, to have him so close yet know he would be gone before getting a taste of the water at his feet. He was parched, and he knew his resolve was breaking. 

"No, you may not." Stevie held his wrist protectively and used his best prim Alex imitation to ward off all the haze that had clouded his mind. 

Xabi stepped back gracefully, because he was always the picture of elegance and sodding royalty. Stevie rounded the desk to put more distance between them and at least feel semi-professional.

"Benitez sends these to your boss," the Spaniard put down the packet on his desk and Stevie caught the color of his cuff, a bruise purple that was an eyesore with anything Xabi wore. He didn't dare ask why it had changed from the dark green of the last week he had saw him through the library stacks. 

Xabi gave him a nod and left without a sound, and Stevie only felt it was fitting he had to get up to close the door after him. What a bloody metaphor.

\---

"Get a load of you, stripping in front of the boy." Alex was almost impressed but Stevie kept a stone-face as he tore through the fish and chips.

"He's your age and working on his doctorate unlike somebody I know." Alex snorted and took a sip of her cola as she flipped to a more appropriate channel.

"Oh please, tell me more." She simpered and batted her eyelashes. He threw a chip into her hair. "Now, now don't get jealous. or rather more green at the gills what with Arteta waiting in the wings like a lead in West Side Story." Stevie groaned.

"I never said that." "You thought it, you wanker." The doorbell rang and Alex looked at Stevie who just shrugged. They were in his flat and hadn't planned on having any guests.

"Open up, we're here to arrest Steven Gerrard for indecency." Alex burst into giggles and went to open the door. 

"You're more of a stripper cop than Stevie is, lad." Jamie Carragher, Stevie's best mate swung Alex around in a hug and stole her spot on the couch. 

"Heard some news around the water cooler, our boy Alonso was in a right strop when he got to Rafa's office." Alex stretched out on the couch with her legs on Carra's lap as she clapped in delight. "The plot thickens!" Stevie shoved the other man into Alex and gave into the gossip.

"What exactly did you hear, Carra?" Jamie shrugged but Alex tickled him into submission. The food was forgotten as both Alex and Stevie focused on Jamie.

"Alright, alright, you'd think the Spanish inquisition were at our door or something. I heard a ton of 'joder' and other not so nice words coming from ol' Beni's office and a crash that makes me think Benitez' prized collection of bobbles took a hit. After my well-deserved break, I heard from Alvaro who heard from one of the Madrid quartet that Alonso was jabbering about our Stevie giving him a show and his honor being insulted or some such nonsense. Honestly, I came up to get the facts straight."

"And spread it around the water cooler?" Stevie knew his idiot display of stubbornness was going to bite him in the arse.

"Not my fault the media office is so close to the language department, mate. It's been tame lately, this is as close to a soap opera those girls will get." Alex slapped his arm and had the common sense to get some beer to sooth Stevie's temper.

"I wasn't giving him a show. I had to change my shirt. He happened to be in the office. And he's the one mocking me, acting like he was so innocent, offering to bloody button my cuff." Carra choked on his drink.

"What's this about buttoning?" Alex yelled from the kitchen. "Get your ears checked, he said the lad tried feeling him up!" 

"Woohooo atta boy." she cheered as she came back with another bottle.

"Can we please stop referring to him as a boy, he's two years younger than me." 

"With a fuller beard than you've got, mate." Carra clinked his bottle with Alex's and laughed.

\---

He had told himself he would stop loitering in the university library so much but here he was again. It wasn't like he didn't use the faculties as they were intended, but he still felt like a liar every time he went through the doors.

It hadn't even been his intention this morning, but something had sparked his memory and he walked into the double doors without a thought to his usual purpose. It was the code, he had overheard a student reciting some art history review and for some reason his brain had connected the dots.

The catalog yielded a result in the back of the archives and he remembered one of his intro classes had touched on the archaic color system in the Renaissance to signify different conditions. It fell out of practice as more people just customized their cuffs with different things. No one in their right mind would use the color system to convey a message in the modern world, except for of course, Xabier Alonso Olano. 

He shook his head as he reached the shelf and found the book. 

He saw red as he went down the color key to all the ones he remembered.

_Not wanted, not a compatible match_

_A loveless match_

_Unrequited_

_Distance, over seas_

_Not fit to care for bondmate_


	2. Do I Wanna Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xabi runs and Stevie stays. How it ends.
> 
> Also some sex.

"He wasn't there. He didn't show up." Alex cuddled up to him on the couch in solidarity. He had told her everything, even the things he hadn't wanted to admit. 

How could that ginger-bearded tosser act like _he_ was the victim. Stevie had been the first to get rejected.

 _Unwanted_ What a load of rubbish. "He-why is this so bloody difficult? He was the one that walked away from this first. I didn't choose to bond with the bloody Prime Minister of Spain's beloved son." He was furious. Xabi hadn't shown up in the library. None of his entourage was around to question. He had even passed by Benitez' office, but couldn't find anybody.

Carra barged into the room and incoherently yelled for a bit before turning the news on. 

"Breaking news: an assassination attempt on the Spanish Prime Minister happened earlier this morning. The shooter has been detained and no comment has been released on Minister Alonso's condition. His son, Xabier Alonso was seen in the Madrid Airport this afternoon, as he is currently studying in our country's most prestigious--" 

Steven stood up and grabbed Carra's shoulders. Alex scrambled to get between them, but then saw Stevie's eyes as he stared at his best mate. They were panicked, full of fear for his bondmate, and desperate.

"You have to get me his number. Ask Alvaro or Rafa or break into the directory if you have to. I can't sit here doing nothing. I need to know--" if he was alright, if he was coming back, if he really meant what he said with his cuffs.

"Alright. I'll do it, don't do anything rash while I'm gone." Carra gently agreed while taking Stevie's hands and leading him to the couch. Alex and Carra shared a look of understanding as he left on the quest to find Alonso's number. Alex had muted the news as she held Steven in her arms. He seemed to cave in after a clip of Xabier fending off reporters. The bruise purple cuff still on his wrist. 

_Not fit to care for bondmate_

He trembled in Alex's hold.

\---

Xabi hadn't been in Madrid since two summer ago to spend some time with his mother. He hadn't been on the best terms with his father but he knew his heart was in the right place. It was Xabi who was in the wrong and now, his father lay in a bed fighting for his life. Mikel had shouted at his brother until his voice was hoarse, blaming him for the trouble following the family, following his father's steps in the public sphere

"Disown me if you must. You are the eldest. It is your right to do as father commands" Mikel sneered and leaned into Xabi's personal space as if to hit him.

"No, that is not what father would want. And I would not give you that satisfaction. Think carefully on your next move Xabier. I do not want to tell you again--this Gerrard is no good for you, for the family. It is best if you make your peace with it. I want you back here in Spain, to do what you should, not fuck around like some Prince Harry. You are an Alonso. Studies are well and good but enough is enough. Do not think you are fooling anyone but yourself in this stupid dalliance."

Xabi held his tongue at Mikel's rebukes. It was harsh but nonetheless true. He had thought to excuse himself a while longer from truly shouldering the mantle of the family legacy by traveling but his gambit had not included finding his bondmate.

Steven Gerrard hit him like a dive into waters unknown. A shock to Xabi's system and getting through the exterior of Alonso upbringing in one snap.

Xabi wasn't even aware that people like Gerrard still existed. Stupidly noble and true to himself, he was all Xabi wasn't. 

He was in love with him. How could he not be when fate decreed it to be right? But he was also part of a family that had standards he had to meet and Steven Gerrard didn't qualify with his upbringing and his education.

Xabi knew that after the bar and yet he went on to find anything and any way to keep some inane closeness to the man. 

Through those actions, Xabi had found the man he wanted to be more than a copy of his father. He wanted to be more than an Alonso in the political sphere. He wanted to help.

But most of all he wanted a world where it would be alright to be himself and not just the expectations put upon him. 

"You're definitely not from around these parts." The stranger had wanted to thank him with a pint and Xabi had enough alcohol in his system to not politely refuse. The man pressed a dirty bar rag against his wounded head but he waved off any other medical attention. Xabi had seen him with others up until the fight broke out and several people were thrown out. Steven had said the bartender would leave them alone as long as he was quiet for the rest of the night. He was in the middle of a pub crawl celebrating his freedom from academia and was sure his mates had moved onto the next hovel to binge but Stevie had decided to end his night here in the company of a stranger.

"No, your weather is much too dreadful for me to get a proper tan." 

"What's proper got to do with it?" Stevie gave him a blatant once-over and Xabi took a long pull of the beer glass in his hand. He had to keep a cool head in this situation. He couldn't afford a stupid scandal over one night of drunken revelry.

"What do you plan to do with your international relations degree?" Steven gave him a pointed look but amused the question. 

"Go back home. Change things for the better." Simple and determined. He liked the man even more.

"And what are you doing in these backwoods, Xabi?" A small kindling started in his gut at hearing his name, accented but low. He smiled enigmatically, or 'full of secrets' as his mother would say. He was taking some time off before joining his father's camp. Xabi knew he was too old to throw a tantrum but had somehow managed to convince his mother of the trip, citing sprucing up his English, making a farewell to his youthful student adventures. She had patted his hand and gave her blessing with a gaze that knew much more than he had said.

"Running away from what I have to become." Steven lifted a brow at that but said nothing, taking the time to mull over the words. Drinking also helped pass the silence. 

"Are you running towards the person you want to be?" Xabi laughed and leaned in to pick off a glint of glass from the other man's head. 

"You should at least wash off the blood and get the glass out of your hair." Steven shrugged and dropped his arm to his lap with the rag clutched in his hand. 

"Shook most of it off in that scrap." He hesitated. "But it wouldn't hurt I suppose." Xabi knew they were on the same wavelength at that moment as Steven left the fabric on the bar and walked to the toilets.

He waited a few seconds and went after him.

\---

Stevie dunked his head in the least contaminated sink. The brightness of the room was disorienting for a bit, and the cold water made him feel a tad more sober than before. He hadn't done something this dumb since his first semester at uni. It was almost fitting he end his celebrations with a quickie in the stalls. He looked into his hazy reflection and gave himself a pep talk. 

"C'mon Gerrard, you can do this. Alex would probably slap you if you didn't take this fine opportunity to bang that--" Xabi came through the door with a smug smile on his face and hovered behind him, his body heat quickening Stevie's blood flow and making him shut up. He turned away from the mirror and grabbed Xabi's shirt to pull him into a kiss. Xabi pushed him into an empty stall and locked the door behind him. Steven crowded him against the door and slipped his hands underneath his shirt while attacking his throat with teeth. Xabi let out a guttural moan as he blindly tugged at Steven's jeans, unbuttoning and grasping at his cock. 

Stevie dropped his head onto a tanned shoulder and moved into the rough touch. 

"God, Xabi." He wasn't sure if it was he was conflating the man with a deity or if he was just praying for more. He traced the hardness pressing into him with feather light touches and Xabi whined, calling him a tease. What he would give to stretch the Spaniard out fully on his bed, anywhere but a quick fuck in a dirty bar. He unzipped the slacks(who wears slacks to a bloody dump like this) and took him in hand, following the pace of his companion. 

Xabi shuddered as he felt high enough to fly. What was it about this man that was so irresistible? Everything felt laughably right in this very moment. He felt as if every coil of tension in his body was going to snap into a delicious free-fall at Steven's hand. He couldn't be the only one unreasonably delirious. He opened his eyes to find Steven's eyes dark and hungry, and Xabi couldn't help but to kiss him open-mouthed and messily, swallowing any errant sounds they made.

Stevie felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach as he came. It was a rush, heady and strong. It had been a while, but it had been the best and his breathing was harsh against Xabi's ear. A laugh came out as a sob as Xabi bit into his shoulder to muffle his grunt, spilling all over Stevie's hand and his clothes. 

It felt final as they shared a silent moment.

A footfall outside the stall sounded like a death knell to Stevie. Xabi used some of the roll on the wall to clean up. 

_"Senor Alonso, it is time to leave."_ Stevie grabbed his wrist as Xabi unlocked the stall. 

"Is that it then? Xabi Alonso walks into a bar and leaves after a hand job in the toilets?" Xabi looked at him with whiskey-dark eyes, almost with pity. 

"I can't do much more. You knew who I was and it didn't matter. But now, it does." He left the stall.

"Vamonos, Martin." Stevie was shocked still.

\---

It was of course a cruel twist of fate when Xabi uncuffed his wrist that night and found the name Steven Gerrard on it. How right the world was indeed. He had hidden it from his family for weeks until he had proposed getting his doctorate in England. His mother congratulated him and his father retired to his office with a blank face. Jon had smiled and Mikel had a calculating look in his eye. 

He had gotten the permission but it had ended up in this.

David knocked on the door and Mikel took a deep breath to pause his tirade.

"Senores, a call for Xabier. Shall I make them wait?" 

"Yes" "No" The brothers stared off until Mikel gave him a disappointed look and left the room. Xabi released the tension is his shoulders with a sigh of relief. Silva handed the phone over and stood guard of the door. 

_"Xabier speaking,"_

"Are you okay? I heard about your father. I mean of course you're not okay, your father just got shot, but I wanted to know if you--I found the color chart in an art history book." Xabi almost lost his composure as the familiar voice. It had to be the longest sentence the man had directed at him since they met. The nervous manner of his bond mate almost made him smile.

So he had finally found out the secret.

"Gerrard? How did you get this number?" 

"Sod off, don't try to bullshit a bullshitter. It's going to cost a fortune on my mobile, who cares how I got the number? Just tell me you're not going to do something stupid like me." He did smile at that. Stupid moves were a Steven Gerrard signature. 

"I'm okay. We are waiting for the results of the surgery." He spoke softly, not sure what he expected when his little cuff color game was discovered. It had started on a spiteful whim, knowing that it wouldn't read as anything but a penchant for multiple cuffs, but he had hoped at some point Steven would get the message. 

"Do you like Matisse?" Did he hear that right? 

"Excuse me?" Xabi was somewhat baffled at the complete turn of conversation.

"Do you like Matisse? I never thought much of art. I got my requirement done but it might as well be Greek to me." Xabi felt a knot in his throat loosen and disappear as he extolled the virtues of Cezanne and the wild beasts of the post-impressionist movement. 

He gave the Englishman a brief summary of the movements that encompassed the history of painting and how the Baroque era really opened up the art movement to the masses, how Francisco de Goya documented the war through his paintings and inspired the likes of Picasso. 

"Senor, the doctor is with your mother now." Fernando came into the room. Xabi stopped his explanation of the 20th century commercialization and returned to the present, to a harsher reality than he had ensconced himself in those minutes talking to Steven. In some other life, these telephone conversations would have been the norm between them, not brought on by a dire circumstance. He had carefully avoided the Renaissance to not lead to awkward questions, but had thoroughly enjoyed schooling Steven in a subject he had very little knowledge in, hoping to spark some appreciation or affection as he had for art.

"I have to go." 

Steven cleared his throat.

"Of course, good luck. I'll talk to you soon?" He trailed off uncertainly at the future of their meeting.

"I can't keep running, Steven. Even wild horses have to stop for a drink." Xabi walked with David to another room. 

"It's alright. It's gonna be alright." A swell of fondness rushed over the Alonso man as he heard the reassurance. He suddenly realized why they were perfect for each other. Everyone thought of their defects being picked up by their bondmate's virtues but Xabi knew Steven picked up more than that. They brought out the better versions of themselves. They built each other up. How could he let that go for the sake of his family? How could he live without Steven Gerrard in his life?

"Maite zaitut," he hung up.

\---

"Melodramatic bastard," Stevie was almost fond of it, even as he winced at the blinking numbers at the bottom of the screen. 

"Dinner's up, sulky." Alex called from the kitchen and set two steaming bowls on the small table adjoining the kitchen.

"You're too good to me, love." Alex smiled and waved it off, brandishing a stolen salt shaker. Their dinner consisted of bangers and mash, something Alex thought as comforting and she wasn't half bad at making. Though compared to Stevie's cooking, she was a four star chef.

"I'm glad you got that sorted out. You look loads better." 

"I feel better. Do you know about a bloke named de Goya?" Alex gave him a funny look but shook her head.

"Well..." he tried his best to explain it like Xabi had, but knew he fell flat. Alex regaled him with a story about one of her coworkers and they quietly passed the time eating and conversing until she decided that a nap would be beneficial for all. 

He woke up to a shake of the shoulders by Alex. 

"They're saying something, the Prime Minister is okay, out of the woods at least." They had slept on the couch. She turned up the volume as he rubbed the sand out of his eyes. It was a direct translation, but he couldn't pay attention to the words as he saw Xabi next to the speaker. A orange sunset cuff, it was a new color. He went into his room quick, startling Alex, looking for the copy he made of the color key. 

"What is it?" Alex held her breath, knowing to stay by the door, in case.

"It's a good sign."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My attempt at British is probably getting worse. I appealed to the gods of smut but I really didn't know what I was doing. There will be an epilogue chapter after this.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a british native. Sorry for any mistakes. I'm a bit new to gerlonso but this plot didn't let go until I attempted it.


End file.
